Merry Christmas To You...From Us! 2011

Take What You Like, Throw Out The Rest

That was my mother's advice at being a mother, "take what you like that I did, and throw out the rest." And that's what I've been trying to do. It isn't easy.

If anyone TRULY knew how to parent perfectly, they'd have the riches of the world or author, JK Rowling. But near as I can tell, no one knows for sure what makes a good parent. There are a couple of "gimmes": love and protect your child. But after that, it's a nebulous mess.

My goal, since we brought Alex home, was to try and rear a confident (not cocky), secure, educated, good young man. We're off to a good start, but there have been some bumps. Alex is not confident, at least not outwardly. He's painfully shy sometimes, and doesn't participate openly in class for fear of being wrong. If he can't do something perfect the first time he tries, he abandons it.

I've combed through all his early-learning situations, things I might have said, reactions I may not have controlled that might have influenced this behavior, just sure it was something we may have done when he was an infant to have instigated this fear. And while I find that sometimes I'd talk for him, rather than letting him answer or when I saw his angst in a social situation, I got him out of it, none of these would account for his timidity at 8 years old.

Now, don't get me wrong, he can be social. He has friends. He can talk to adults. He just needs to know them well enough. And he even developed his own coping mechanism when he was 3 or 4. We'd go to the park, he'd grab one of his favorite toys to bring with him. I thought, "why does he need that, we're just going down slides and swinging. I'll probably end up holding the damn thing!" But these toys were Alex's entre into talking with other kids on the playground. If "he" thought they were cool, then other kids would think they were cool and they'd want to play with him. It worked, every time.

Where did he learn this? Not from us! But how ingenious!

It backfired, occasionally, in his younger years, because as much as he wanted to play with them, he wasn't big on sharing his toys with them. BUT, we worked on that, and he adapted his idea, and would bring a second set of the toy... I even joined in and would try to set up games like squirt gun / target shot... I'd put chalk "X's" all over the playground (they wash off) and I'd give them filled up squirt guns, and they'd have to find the Xs and shoot them off. He's developed into a kid that knows how to share.

Good parenting also requires a "village." 

Your child isn't always where you can see them, watch them and gauge their life 100% of the time. There's this thing called, "school." We've been lucky enough to have had 5 very engaging, committed teachers for Alex's years at St. Benedict Prep. It started in preschool with Ms. Aubrey, then continued with Ms Wilson in Kindergarten, but got really interesting with Mrs. Feeley (1st G), Ms. Balsley (2nd G) and now Ms. Cirincione (3rd G). They see Alex's potential and have really worked on a one-to-one with him, and with us, to help bring him out of his shell.

A continuous conversation with them has helped us to get Alex to participate more regularly, raise his hand to answer questions, present his projects at a volume that the kids can hear him at the back of the class. He brings home mostly A's (occasionally a B), reads at a 4th grade level and kicked booty on his Terra Nova testing last year.

He also has a rich support system in his grandparents, who take an active role and work with him on liking himself, and feeling good about himself. He has the wonderful moms and dads of his friends, who consistently give him the praise and attention when he does something right.

He is a really good kid.

He has his issues, but nothing we can't work on, and with the support of all of those around us, come out on the other side with a confident, secure, educated, good young man. I'm sure of it!

Knowing Where You Come From

Grandmother & Granddad on their 80th birthdays

I just got back from a visit in Indiana, where my 94 y.o. grandmother resides in a nursing home. She's had a series of small strokes that have left her unable to talk very well. We believe her mind is there, because we see the expressive lift of the eyebrows and small tilt of the head, that let's us know she's answering the silly question we just asked, with a bit of mimed sarcasm.

My aunt has been my grandmother's caretaker since shortly after my grandfather's death in 1997. A series of hip replacements and poor healing had her moving in and taking on the role of nurse, along with daughter. And, with my mother's death in 2002, she took on the full load and responsibility without a whimper.

We know it's tiring, and that her life has been put on semi-hold as she does what she does, because it's "what we do" when it comes to family. So, I try to go down every once in a while and help out...as does my husband, and my soon-to-be 8 y.o.

We do what we do because it's "what we do."

Well, during this visit, my aunt (Sue) pointed out to me a letter she had come across. It was from one of my grandfather's former students. She had written my grandmother shortly after my grandfather's funeral.

Let me point out, at my grandfather's viewing I heard story after story about my grandfather; how he was tough, but fair; how he cared, and taught life lessons; how he was remembered with fondness and respect.

This letter details why... and the type of people I come from:

September 22, 1997

Dear Mrs. Beanblossom,

My grandparents best friends (left),
Grandmother and Grandad

I was sorry to learn about Mr. Beanblossom's illness and passing. Since that time I have thought often of him and what he meant to me. I'd like to share that with you.

I remember Mr. B as a very fair man, one who liked students and expected only the best from them. He was a good teacher and I enjoyed the time spent in his classroom.

His sense of humor I first saw the summer I was ten and he built the house my folks still live in. He teased my younger sister, Susie, and I -- but always in a a fun way. He would ask Susie, "Are you a Republican or a Democrat?" Her response was always, "I'm a bug!" Later when I was in eighth grade, Carol Bedimeister and I put a Democrat bumper sticker on his car. He laughed and took our teasing good-naturedly, and then, of course, took off the sticker! I learned from him how important it is to be a good sport.

During my "trials and tribulations" with one of our classmates, Mr. B was always there to mediate and calm me down. His quiet concern was always obvious--concern for me and probably more importantly, for my adversary who needed someone in her corner.

During my sixteen years as a teacher and now eleven as an assistant principal, I have tried to remember the lessons  I learned from Mr. B. Quite literally, I have more than once wondered what he would have done before I decided how to help a student or how to mediate for students who just couldn't seem to get along.

I might never have made a switch to school administration if I hadn't admired, respected and liked Mr. B so much. I always hoped that he was proud of my career and knew how important he was in helping to shape it.

Thanks for listening to my thoughts of Mr. B. I'm only sorry I didn't write this letter to him years ago.

Sincerely,
Micky Kaiser Lowe

My grandfather was a teacher, a principal and a superintendent... an academic his entire life, who also built homes, created beautiful antique reproductions, loved his girls with all his heart... and his grandchildren with the same warmth and care.

I am proud of my heritage, my family... all of them... but this letter inspired me to share it.

Back to the Weight Thing...

I got off track lately, when it comes to the whole weight issue. It happens to me, getting off track, that is. This whole blog is a simply a stream of consciousness. I don't really edit after I type, except to check for typos or REALLY heinous grammatical errors. But I want to get back to the weight/self-image story...

So, we left off during a sedentary part of my life, when online communities were in their infancy and costly. I spent ALOT of time online, and on my ass. This was the beginning of my downfall.

Now, don't get me wrong, I met my husband on Compuserve. He moved up here in '95, we were married in '96... and celebrated 15 years together this past Memorial Day weekend. I got comfortable... really comfortable... and a bit lazy, other than the three nights a week I played softball.

There's something to be said about being "comfortable"... but when you add "lazy" to it, it's just a slippery, slick slope to fatty girl!

All that time I had "worried" that I was fat... went through the bulimia... got better... got fit... and here I was, 15 years after all of that, and I was truly getting fat.

Then the next chapter came with the illness of my mom.

She and my dad had been divorced 5 years, she was remarried. Dad had remarried also. Mom lived in Chester, VA with my step dad who taught logistics at a local army base. They travelled to Europe for his work and his hobby, train collecting. Often they stayed in military housing which meant very old facilities and not the best accommodations.

A little aside, Mom had polio as a child, and one thing they've found in polio victims of the past is that the muscles that the polio affected in childhood deteriorated earlier and became extremely weak. Mom's muscles were her abdominal muscles that helped her exhale, the muscles around the lungs. She developed a poor breathing problem at night and used a bi-pap machine to sleep, in order to keep her O2 levels non-toxic. When mom was diagnosed with post polio and respiratory issues, her O2 levels had slowly (over years) lowered to toxic levels... she couldn't stay awake for more than an hour without needing to sleep. It was scary, but the bi-pap had handled things.

Where she got "ill" was, in my belief, from her stays at these bases overseas... and the use of her bi-pap machine to force air through her lungs. She once remarked that her filter in her machine was black when she took it out.

Mom was diagnosed with non small cell lung cancer in Sept of 2001. She had a procedure in June to remove a mass in her lung, but they told her that they got it all and there were no live cancer cells surrounding the mass, they would just monitor it with x-rays and regular visits. Three months later, it was in both lungs, her spine and a rib in her back. It was stage IV. She went to Johns Hopkins for confirmation and a treatment plan. There really wasn't one...

Up to now, that phone call I got from her on the way back from the doctor was the worst moment in my entire life. It literally rocked my world.

I spent the next 6 months going back and forth to Virginia. I hosted Xmas at my house for my family, consisting of my brother (who hadn't been home for Xmas in 10 years - from Dubai), my grandmother, my aunt and my mom and step-dad. We had a wonderful holiday, and I worked so hard to make it a great visit. We had "talks"... we shared lots of stories, and love, and tears.

For those six months I was on autopilot.

Eventually, my mom came and lived with me for her last month. It was hard. Really hard.

Here was my best friend, who I did not want to let down, who I wanted to stay positive for, who it was KILLING me that she was dying... but I just kept moving one day at a time.

Grandmother, Mom and Sue (my aunt)

Mom left us on April 10th, 2002... in the early afternoon. I had spent the entire previous day and night... holding her hand. I was hoping I could keep her around til my brother made it back from Dubai. My family talked me into taking a break, and letting my aunt hold her hand... and try to get some sleep, because I was getting loopy. It was only a few minutes, and she started gasping... her eyes wide open. Someone ran and got our nurse, Maureen. It was time. I let my grandmother get up next to her (she was there, in a wheelchair after having her 3rd hip surgery just a week earlier), my step dad was on the other side.. my aunt and Alan just down from each of them. Me? I was just off to the side. My mom looked over at me... and I looked in her eyes. "It's ok, you can go. I'll take care of Doug. It's really ok, Mom. I love you, but you don't have to stay here anymore." My step-dad was saying otherwise, but I knew she was listening to me. My grandmother and aunt told her the same thing, through their tears. Alan weeped to the side of my step-dad.

She took one last breath, and left us.

Ten minutes later, my dad called that my brother's plane had landed.

I think she knew what we all hadn't considered. If Doug has seen what we saw, he wouldn't have been comforted by it, he would have been haunted by it. But, I still had my guilt for not getting him home, that was my cross to bear.

Mom was out of pain, moving on to where ever we go when we die, but I do believe she had a soul that left her body... and based on my beliefs, I believe she will be back to continue her journey of learning, and I hope we cross paths again. I also believe that she had a say in our getting Alex when we did, a year and a half later.

What does all this have to do with weight... it was a life-changing moment. It switched something in my make-up, and my "eating for comfort" began to take over. I also just wanted to "feel" better, and chocolate cake did that, ice cream did that, fresh-baked bread... did that!

It wasn't til a year into having Alex, that I started to come out of my eating funk. I found a more joyful thing that made me feel good... my own family... and now it was time to look inward at the outside and get fit for my son.

And, I did... for a while.

More to come.....

Sometimes It's Not You...

In this world, there are the narcissists, the confident ones, the insecure ones, the blissfully ignorant ones, the genuinely happy ones...and there are ones like me, ever-critical of self. There's no way I'm arrogant or blissfully ignorant, but I do have moments of confidence, insecurity and genuine happiness, all to varying degrees.

I have found I am a bit more critical of myself once a month, I'm hoping that goes with the wave of hot flashes I now endure. It does help to at least understand the trigger, in order to keep from totally collapsing into a weeping pool of self-doubt.

This is one of the things that makes
me genuinely happy!

Over all, I'm a fairly secure individual. I experience genuine happiness every time I hear my son truly laugh, see a perfect sunset or successfully help a friend in need. My insecurities manifest themselves in a physical issue called "weight" which is actually a deeper insecurity which I can discuss in a later blog. Blissful ignorance is something I can't resolve, I find nothing blissful about ignorance, and those that live their lives that way, irritate the snot out of me.

In the day-to-day bombardment of one's self-worth, if you're like me, there's always the underlying idea that it's something "we've" done. Unless you're the "confident" one, you start by looking inward. "Did I say something wrong?" "Did I miss something, not do enough?" "If only I had... (insert issue here)." When we've exhausted those ideas, THEN we look outward.

Why?

Why do most of us start with the fault lying with us, versus that particular situation, or the circumstances we had no control over?

I believe it harkens back to two things: 1) being a people pleaser or 2) the need to be in control of the situation on some level. "If I was in control of this situation, then it wouldn't have gone down like this."

Sometimes it just hits during a "low" and you just metaphorically add it to the pile of things you can't do right.

Or... maybe you did have something to do with it, but does it have to be ALL your responsibility? Were there others who should share in the shame?

For those "people pleasers" of us, you're convinced you could have done more to prevent it. Your disappointment actually comes more from letting others down and internalizing it as a lack of ability on your part. But sometimes... it's NOT YOU!

It's usually a series of decisions, some you had control over... and others you did not.

While you can SHARE in the responsibility, you don't OWN it, regardless of how you feel. Sometimes others, in their haste to buck their responsibility, play on your insecurities in order to avoid the trap that is self-doubt. The trick is not to simply accept it. Understanding the part you played, and taking a deep breath before beating yourself up, often prevents a lot of unnecessary self-flagulation.

Life is about learning... learning from your mistakes... learning from your successes... learning from others... and remembering the lessons. Take what worked, and own it. Take what didn't, and figure out what to do differently next time, and own that too!

We're fallible, we're human and most of the mistakes we make in life will not cause extreme harm to anyone, so don't fall into the trap of feeling TOO guilty, or accepting too much responsibility. Weigh the facts, assess the outcome and try... TRY not to beat yourself up.

I Don't Wanna Work...

An oldie from 2006 as well

I have worked since I was 16 years old. That's 27 [update: 32] years. Not alot, but pretty good, but I'm burnt out. I want to be in a financial situation where I can simply... "be"...

BE with my kid
BE interested... in anything
BE involved... with my son's school or with some philanthropic endeavors
BE awake... get real, stress-free sleep
BE organized
BE able to make my jewelry again, for fun...not money [I'm not that good]
BE carefree
BE political
BE a family...

just BE...

Okay, I am converting to Taoism... (picks up the Tao of Pooh)...

Yep, ok... that makes sense to me... right now.

Oh, yeah, I forgot one thing... I NEED THE MONEY I'M MAKING.
Wish it wasn't true, but it is. I actually need to make money to help my family meet it's needs. If I knew then what I know now, I would have enjoyed the HELL outta my teens at the time.

When you think about it, you don't have to work when you don't realize how great that is, or when you're too old to enjoy it! How fucked up is that! The best years you've got, you spend working 9-5, 5 days a week [translation: 8:30-5, leave, pick up the kid, get dinner over, do kid's homework, get kid to bed, work from 8-10 at home... you get the idea.] Then you try to jam everything you WANTED and still NEED to do, into the weekends and evenings.

I've thought about simplifying... you know, paring down on the things you buy... spending more time couponing or buying less... all GREAT in theory... but for a woman who walks through a store and "picks up" $150 dollars worth of "Ooooo they'd like that" JUNK... it's not reasonable.

I don't want to work anymore... but I have to... and I will... and when I retire, I better be in HALFway decent shape... so I can enjoy the life I have left!

Dammit.

If I Won The Lottery...

Tonight, the Powerball is worth $120MM... a $62.6MM cash payout...and I, as do others, have often thought about what I would spend that money on, if I won.

Clearly Alex is ready for a wealthy life.

Before spending anything, I would call  my husband, letting him know we had just reduced our worries by ALOT. My second call would be to our family accountant, asking, "WHAT the HECK do I do!?!?"

When we did get the payout, I have a few things I'd like to do:

1. Payoff ALL our debt, and payoff the condo.
2. Give every immediate member of my family a $10K gift and tell them to go play! (repeat every year)
3. Buy a house, with a yard, in a neighborhood with other kids around.
4. Set up a college fund and trust for Alex.
5. Set up a philanthropy that would help others. One cause close to my heart is helping homeless families get back on their feet, but there would be alot of options for this organization I'd like to explore.
6. Give the Annoyance $100K to use as they see fit.
7. Give the Off-the-Street Club $100K to use for a library or scholarships...in my mom's name.
8. Put our friend (and Alex's nanny for many years), Suzie through school. Give her enough money that she doesn't have to worry about bills, food and other things... and just finished college and become the juvenile parole officer she wants to become.
9. Go back to school to become a teacher/school counselor.
10. Help set up elder-care for my grandmother, Alan's mom, my dad & my step-mom, my aunt  and other members of my family in need.
11. A family vacation, with friends too, to Orlando... all-inclusive... all the bells and whistles.
12. A vacation for me and the hubby... where? I have no idea! When all the options are available... it's hard to pick one.
13. A series of donations to organizations close to my hearts: Lung Run (for lung cancer research), ArfHouse Chicago, Breast Cancer Research, Men of Movember, and more.

It would really be something to be debt free... and Alex's future, funded! :)

Life Can Be A Cliche

There's a reason for cliches... they're cliches because they are, more often than not, true.

Examples:

"What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger"
"Time heals all wounds"
"Growing like a weed"
"All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy" (or according to Stephen King, a psychotic killer)
"Asleep at the wheel"
"Better than a kick in the teeth"
"Busy as a one-legged man in an ass (butt) kicking contest"
"Take a picture, it will last longer" (see... true, right?)
"Time flies when you're having fun"
"Two wrongs don't make a right"

And on... and on....

But there's a reason they exist... because on some level they are true... if you google "cliches", you get some great sites, and even more little pearls of wisdom disguised as word play.

One of my favorites was a Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) quote:
"If you never tell a lie, you never have to remember what you said."

Ain't that the truth... and ya know... "truth is stranger than fiction"

So, don't sit there "twiddling your thumbs!" "Live each day as if it were your last," and get out there and "Play for the name on the front of your jersey, not the name on the back of your jersey". Because "You don't miss the water till the well runs dry" if "you snooze, you loose." So, "go for broke"... "a good beginning, makes a good ending"... "make no bones about it" "you got it coming to you... 'grab the bull by the horns" because "opportunity doesn't knock twice."

Aging Sucks

Another old Myspace blog from 2007, that still has a "point."

Well, my grandfather would have said "getting old stinks," because his generation didn't use "suck" with the elegance of my generation. He lived to be 92. When he died, it was in a nursing home, he couldn't see, couldn't hear, had a staph infection contracted during one of his many hospital stays, and couldn't eat. His mind? Still sharp as a tack.

My grandmother, currently 94, and now,
because of a series of small strokes, she's
had to go to a nursing home because she
can't walk, talk or feed herself. My aunt
goes to feed her dinner every night.

My grandmother turns 90 today. She's had 4 hip replacements, carpel tunnel, hysterectomy, and more. Her hearing is, well, limited...but there. She has macular degeneration in her eyes. Her mind? All there. She still gets around, uses her walker, but still manages to cook dinner, do the daily crossword, iron clothes and clean.

Now, at 90, you'd expect alot of these things...but aging starts MUCH younger and with less innocuous symptoms.

Tipping. What makes a man of 60 start to tip significantly less than he did when he was 40? Age? It could be failing memory. It could have been a deterioration of math skills. It could be the impending fixed income. It could be age. I'm going to assume it's the impending fixed income... I can rationalize that choice.

Patience. How can the bar you went to in your 20s, be too loud to go to in your 40s? Increased sensitivity to sound? The younger set is lounder these days? A change in the decor that makes the sound bounce and increase in volume? Getting older, and having less patience? Nope, gotta be the decor! I know it's not the hearing because I can hear my lil guy in the back of the house when he stubs his toe. I don't think the kids are louder these days (egad, I just called them "kids"...). I refuse to believe it's my "getting older" syndrome... so it MUST be the decor. Did I mention, I only go to my old haunts if I know they've been redecorated?

But lack of patience is a wide-spread aging symptom... lack of patience with servers at restaurants, attempting to cut in long lines by feigning ignorance, asking for help and then getting mad when the answer isn't the one they wanted, yelling at young people for being young.

I'm straddling that line now... at 43... of aging to a point of intolerance... or remembering how fun it was in my 20s and 30s. I'm lucky to have a 3 y.o. that keeps my foot firmly planted to the younger side of 40... but I feel the ever growing tug of the oldies side.

I know I'll always tip 20% or more... my fear is that the "customary" tip will go to 30% and no one will tell me...or my mind will fail, and I'll become the "bad tipper". I already have a low tolerance for rude behavior, but it doesn't suffer from an age bias. I think older AND younger people have become more rude. How hard is it to say "excuse me" or "please"? How hard is it to excuse someone who has asked, easier than ignorning me when I ask... I'll let you know you were rude.. ACK... another thing that comes with age. But I like to think of it as a confidence that comes with it, rather than an intolerance.

As my hip reminds me of my changing body, and my breasts rolling to the side when I lay down at night "tip" me to the fact I am aging... or the additional "laugh lines" (WRINKLES people, WRINKLES) that wink at me in the morning mirror... and the 90 y.o. grandparents I've had... I've got 50 more years ahead of me...

I intend to "age" gracefully. I'm going to create "post-it" reminders of these "behaviors" I fear of adopting... so if my mind fails, I'll have these notes... so I can become the sweet ole lady down the street, who has the great halloween candy and has her grandchildren visit her often...and help her decorate at Christmas. The woman who helped keep a neighborhood connected and together through good works, and a sweet disposition.

I'm going to make sure that MY aging, doesn't suck.

Growing Up [A post from July 13, 2006]

Just reposting from my OLD myspace page. Still holds up, but it was 5 years ago! 

So, my year of "health" has turned up many reminders that I'm getting older. And while I feel I've gotten "wiser", the old bod seems to be falling apart.

I have to laugh. It's one of those "my mother told me" moments. And it's true. If you're under 25, and reading this... and have the least little respect for your parents... BELIEVE them when they tell you about getting older, and start taking better care of yourself NOW! One line my mother used to tell me was, "lose the weight now, it's harder when you're over 40." My reaction, "uh huh, hey, can I borrow about $20 (it was the 80s... $20 went farther)"

I don't feel old. When I look in the mirror, I just think I look tired... 25 and tired. But those aren't lines from being tired, they're my age showing. My wear and tear that reveals itself in little cracks and creases when I smile.

The gray is overrunning the auburn locks that once covered my head, but in a way, I think it's cool. As I tell those who would have me color my hair, "I earned every one of these fuckers, I'm wearing them with pride."

But back to the body crumbling issue. I had put on a lot of weight, and it was NOT helping me care for a very energetic toddler... so I went on Weight Watchers. I dropped 38 pounds by Xmas. I haven't lost or gained a thing since then... but what has happened, I've gotten more active. In getting more active, I've run into more problems.

I found out, I have arthritis in my hip... and possible schlerosis or bone spurs... and I'm doing PT twice a week to try to fix my pain and limp. Then, over the 4th of July, my foot started hurting... ALOT. So, I make an appointment, get referred to a podiatrist, who tells me... I have arthritis in my foot. I have now added another chemical to my daily diet, in the form of 200mg celebrex. Yippee!!! Pretty soon I'll be riviling my grandmother's weekly pill container of morning and nightly pills, totalling about 15 a day! (sigh)

I have also developed tennis elbow, most likely from lifting 41lbs of toddler when necessary.

But I have to say, for all the physical ailments of an aging body, I wouldn't trade it for the confidence, personal growth, and (hopefully) wisdom I've gained along the way. If my choice was to return to the 5 Mile a day runner who was so insecure as to hang out and try to see if her ex-boyfriend was seeing someone else... to today... THANK GOD for who I am today... aches and pains and all!

Second Grader Poetry

My wonderful son has been learning about poetry in his 2nd grade class. Good ole mom was the subject of his 5 senses poem.

Now, Alex doesn't like to "write," because he usually feels like it has to be "right." And when it's open ended questions, or assignments like this one where he has to write his thoughts, he just freezes up. But he has a very involved teacher, who understands Alex's potential like we do and plays an active role in helping Alex over his fears.

Well, thank you, Ms. Balsley... and thank you for helping him feel comfortable enough to write his mom a poem, two days before Mother's Day. Here it is:

My Mom: Annie

I hear her being funny.
I see her brown hair.
I smell her perfume.
I taste her mac and cheese.
I touch her when she gives me hugs.

My response to my son: Alex

I hear your laughter even after you've left the room.
I see those big, brown eyes looking to me for help.
I smell that shampoo I used on your hair when you were a baby.
I taste your scrambled eggs you made me for my weekend breakfast.
I hope to touch your heart, and let you know how proud I am of you, and how much I love you.

Continuing Story of the Self-Image Misconception...

Ok, so I left off with the Wooley's, University of Cincinnati Eating Disorders Clinic and the continuing misconception that I was fat.

At the clinic, we lived there in a nearby hotel with suites. I had a roommate, and we were either in therapy or classes from 9-5. One of the classes I remember most was the "Body Image" workshops. In one workshop we had to walk up to a big piece of paper and draw an outline of how big we thought we were. Next, another girl would draw one for how big they thought you were. Then you'd back up against the paper and the leader of the workshop would trace around you. The perception of my self was about 6" all around LARGER than the actual drawing, and the outline from the other girl was smaller than my actual.

Then we did another workshop where we were talking about things that stressed us out, or saddened us or concerned us. I mentioned that my mom had been pretty depressed since we moved to the midwest, and she was lonely, and not as happy. The woman running the workshop said, "can I try something, I'm going to hold around you from behind... and I'm going to be your mom. I'd like you to just walk around the room with me on you, and talk to your mom." I laughed. The other girls laughed. "Sure! Why not," I responded.

She laid heavy on my back, and as I walked and tried to talk to her, she'd say things like, "I'm so tired," "I hate my life," "Take care of me, Ann," "I need you around, Ann." This went on for just a couple minutes, but by the end of it, I was in tears. I hadn't realized how much I was worried about my mom, and how I had internalized the idea that I had to take care of her, and I couldn't. Remember this, it's a realization that rears it's ugly head 20 years later.

More fashion faux pas, but appropriate garb at the time.
1984 on my way back to college, after the clinic.

For those of you who don't know, bulimia is more about needing at least one aspect of your life to be in your control. You control your weight. The underlying issue that showed up in almost all the girls in that group was a need to control something... anything... and weight seemed to be the easiest solution.

Well, I left there and did follow-up therapy, and returned to college. I had a little breakdown when I went on Spring Break with friends from school, to Padre Island. It was not the smartest thing I ever did. "Hey, you have issues with your weight, and you've just finished an eating disorders clinic...whatcha gonna do now?!" "I'm going to a beach filled with size 2 blondes in bikini's with hot dudes drooling over them." Yeah... not smart!

Other than that, I recovered pretty well, had the occasional mishap, but began working out regularly and eating better.

I still wasn't skinny... and I missed the protruding hip bones of my bulimic era, but I stayed the course.

I yo-yo'd in weight, fluctuating 20 lbs up or down for most of my 20s. Had one great summer where I worked out every morning and / or ran in the evening and felt the best I had in a long time. Again, wasn't skinny, but was very fit, and was happy with it. What a concept!

I was fit enough that I actually bought a bandeau top (yes, that was like a tube top, but it twisted in the middle and was MUCH cooler!) with black cotton parachute inspired pants (yeah, I know, ick) and a little black bolero jacket, a regular slave to fashion! I never would have worn this sort of outfit. When I was at my skinniest in my bulimic period, my friends couldn't get me in a miniskirt, it was just too much for me. But my self-esteem had improved enough, I was comfortable dressing like a working girl, to go out.

Now, the switch to where I started packing the pounds on began around '92 and when the first experience I had with online communities... Compuserve to be exact. I went from being a very active, outgoing woman to a "rush home and get online to talk to people I didn't "really" know, and live a soap opera style existence online."

It cost me money, friends and my positive body image. Don't get me wrong, I got a husband out of the deal, but it did take it's toll.

More to come.....

I hate to say it, but I... am... f...f....f...fat

I spent most of my youth worrying that I was fat.

I wasn't fat. I played sports, I was constantly outside riding my bike or playing kickball, I didn't really snack. It interrupted playtime to stop and snack.

I was 11 or 12 in this photo, I can't believe my
mom got me into a dress!

But what I did have were these freckled, chipmunk cheeks that were especially large when I smiled. I didn't wear "girlie" clothes and was a bit of a tomboy.  And finally, I was on the taller side of my class. All of those physical attributes combined with the fact that I was one of a handful of girls in the COUNTRY that played Little League baseball, opened me up to considerable teasing. Weight is a good weapon, obviously.

I went through grade school and middle school fairly unscathed. I had built up a steely resistance to personal attacks because I wanted to play ball, and I wanted to play with people who played as well as I did, and at the time, that was with the boys.

I also had a mom who was an outspoken feminist, worked tirelessly to keep the local library open and was the President of the League of Women Voters. So, while I got teased on one level, I was also was very well "connected" thanks to my mom. Every adult in the school system, library system or city hall knew me and my family.

But, then we moved.

Halfway through my freshman year in high school, we moved to Centerville, OH. We went from liberal east coast to conservative midwest.

It was total culture shock.

I went from knowing everyone, to knowing NO ONE. I had a NJ accent. I was a tomboy. I was utterly lost. But this whole chapter in my life, is a post of it's own. Needless to say, it was painful, joyful, enlightening, disheartening, loving, and miserable... and I made it through.

Then came college, and this is where the eating issues really found their home in my psyche. I had chose to go as far away from Centerville as I could, so that meant University of Denver was PERFECT for me.

I had also made a deal with myself that I was going to meet as many people as possible, and be outgoing, and have fun. My grades reflected my success in that endeavor, at least for the first two years.

Somewhere around my Sophomore year, at our weekly trips to El Torito for Happy Hour, I learned about bulimia. Not because I was worried about my weight (though I was on some level), it was about continuing to drink, and getting rid of the food I'd been putting in my stomach.

Just after college, you can tell by the acid-wash pants
Doug and I are wearing

It started at happy hour, then I found that I felt better afterward... lighter... or something, like a rush. I started doing it after ANYthing I ate, a candy bar, a sandwich or any food that went in my mouth. I lost alot of weight. People noticed and commented how good I looked. I even started working out as well.

Then I got caught by a guy I was dating. I had to face up to what I was doing. Eating disorders were a "new" psychological condition back then, and  only a few clinics existed to treat it. I went to one at the University of Cincinnati that was run by the Wooley's. Two pioneering doctors in the field of eating disorders.

I got better.

Still, in all of this, when I look at pictures, I still was NOT fat. Round? Sure! Full figured? Yes. Fat? No.


To be continued... this is getting WAY long! I'm splitting it up. NEXT, after college and up to now... from simply FEELING fat to actually BEING fat.

Hi Mom, It's Me, Annie...

This is a reprint of a letter to my mom in 2010. It will be 12 years, this coming Friday (4/11) when my mom left this world. I thought it would be nice to share my letter from Sept. 2010. I have the occasional dream with her, where we have Starbucks and talk. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her. 

===================================

Me and Mom

And lately, I've been thinking alot about you.

Alex will be 7 in September. He's really smart, but extremely hard to figure out. I wonder if you had the same problem with us?

But that's not the reason you've been on my mind, it's more than just sharing what's going on with us. A friend of mine at work is now going through a similar test with her mom, that you and I went through.

Her mom was diagnosed with Stage IV non-small cell lung cancer. It's throughout her body, just like it was yours. It's in her rib, where yours was in your back and rib, and it's just as painful. They are looking for signs of it moving to her brain, like it did in you.

I remember when that happened, too. Right after your 60th birthday, and we had come out to celebrate. Grandmother stayed behind for a bit, and you lost the ability to get the words from your head to your mouth. You, who had always been the verbose one in the bunch, couldn't say anything. The cancer had invaded your sacred place... your mind.

That was the beginning of the end, but we didn't it know it then.

My friend's mom has started chemo treatments, and is doing her best to stay positive. I try to share my experiences with my friend, in hopes that some of the things I regretted after you passed, are not her regrets.

Although we talked at Xmas before you died, and shared some of our thoughts and feelings... I feel like I spent most of my time trying to be strong for you... when maybe, what you needed, was to see how much I was going to miss you. I didn't want to do that, for fear of the effect it might have on you... like when I told Grandmother Watson I wish she would do the chemo again so she could be around to see me get married. She did the chemo, when she truly didn't want to, and she died. I didn't want to put any undue pressure on you... but in doing so, I didn't share my most intimate thoughts about how you had influenced me, how much I loved you, and how much I would miss you when you were gone.

I regretted not getting Doug home to see you in time... when you could talk and share. We had Xmas, but I told Doug, 'don't worry, I'll make sure you're back in time," and I failed. He's forgiven me, I just can't forgive myself.

And then the thought, did I do enough? Did I give you the comfort you needed? Did you feel me holding your hand that whole last 24 hours? Could you tell when I put the teddy bear there, when I needed to attend to nature's call?

If my experiences can help any of my friends with this life lesson they're going through, I want to be there for them... when we share, we hopefully lessen the burden that they might have to carry.

My release, reminder, remembrance and honoring of your life culminates in my Lung Run Walk/Run. This year, I'm adding more names to my shirt... I hope there comes a year where I don't add any.

I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. I just wanted to share my thoughts. I just wanted people to know how much you mean to me, and why I do this... and why I feel honored to wear those people's names on my shirt... and why I am so willing and honored to talk with my friends who are going and have gone through... the loss of a parent.

I miss you every day. I love you.

A Break from History, A Look at Today! (originally published 06/17/09)

Your life is made up of a series of learning experiences. Sometimes you "learn" the lesson, others you are doomed to repeat because you don't pay attention. 

Lessons are easy and hard. The easy ones you seem to gloss over and sometimes don't even recognize there was something more there than the moment. For example, when you run through the yellow light, in a big hurry, and almost get clipped by another car. At the time, it's heart-pounding, scary and you wonder why you were in such a hurry. The next time you get a yellow, chances are you're not going to gun the car to run through it.

Other lessons are "in-your-face" hard lessons. Loss of a family member, loss of a friend, heartbreak of a bad relationship (although sometimes this is a lesson not learned and repeated), bad decisions in the workplace, placing trust in someone who proves untrustworthy are just a handful of these.

Some of us wallow in self-pity when it becomes too overwhelming. Some of us look for the lesson in the experience. 

I've done both. There's nothing wrong with wallowing except that it keeps you from learning. Eventually, I get past it... and take the time to look at what's been going on, and what the lesson was in what happened. It's tough. It's often not fun, because you find a flaw in yourself that you have to correct, and it's never fun when you're already self-critical, to find yet another glitch. BUT, and this is a big but (not butt), acknowledging it, recognizing it and dealing with it... eliminates it! 

Doesn't mean you might not slip up again, but it makes it less likely.

Ultimately, you feel... better. You feel more self-confident. You feel more in control of your life and you more content with the life you're living. 

No one ever said life was easy, but it doesn't have to be as hard as some people make it. It is what it is... and what you make it. There are so many things to enjoy, embrace and marvel... that wasting time with inward anger seems such a shame.

I'm not sure I'm going to learn all the lessons I need to learn in this lifetime, but I'm going to make a real effort to learn as much as possible before I leave this life. I will be the best student of life, that I can be. And I will hopefully equip my son with the same outlook on life.

If you love yourself, not narcissistically, you exude that love and can share it with others. Love comes from learning, growing and doing the hard work to forgive yourself your faults.

Live life one day at a time, and pay attention.

All Things, To All People

It can't be done.

Not if you're 47, overweight, 15 years married with a 7 y.o. active son and working a job that commands 50-70 hours a week.

And if you're like me, it feels like a challenge to be met. "What do you mean I can't do it all!?"

But realistically, you can barely be all things to one of those things.

Then, exhausted, you capitulate. "Uncle!"

That's when the loving husband says, "Hey, I've got this stock I could sell. I know we should probably do some of the condo work, or pay a bill, but I think you... well, 'we' need a vacation." Normally, the practical side of me would respond, "you're right, we need to do work on the condo..." his face drops..."but, we NEED a vacation. I'm in!" He beams, "I didn't think you'd say, 'yes'?!" I'm glad we're both pleasantly surprised.

Alex is over the moon, when we tell him...Orlando. Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Pool. Fun, fun, fun!

I don't know how many times in the last 6 months my son has asked me to quit my job because he never sees me, or I'm working too much at home, or I haven't been home to put him to bed or seen him the next morning. This vacation would give us that much needed family time. No distractions, no emails, just us all together, playing and talking.

And, time for hubby and I to reconnect. Well, reconnect the best you can with two queen beds in the hotel room, one containing a worn out little boy. Doesn't exactly ignite the libido, but just being away from both our jobs and de-stressing does amazing things for a couple.

We returned with a few days at home, piddlin' around. And topped off vacation with dinner with friends we hadn't seen in 4 years.

Reconnecting... on all levels... family... child... friends...

The only way to be all things to all people, is to be a deity. I don't quite think I'm deity material, so I guess I'm relegated to doing the best I can, for the ones who need it the most from me.

And to do this, priorities have to be reset, time needs to be better allocated, and rejuvenation is necessary!  I also have to be a little easier on myself, give myself a break, so to speak.

I want to be a good mom. I want to be a good wife, a good worker, a good daughter, a good friend.

I don't have to be "groundbreaking"... but I can be good at some, very good at others.

And the family I have, the friends I've chose and who have chosen me, understand... and are willing to meet me half way.

My work? Work I can adjust with the right hires, and the right (rested and rejuvenated) attitude, it can be done... done well, and still have time for my family and friends.

Compromise. Forgiving yourself. Asking for help. Rejuvenation. Dialogue. Love.

It may not be all things, to all people... but it is doing your best for those that are willing work with you.

Alex & Daddy run quickly from the TRex